“Are you finished?” he asked me when his bowl and plate were nearly empty.
“I am. Your cook made an excellent meal.”
“I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments.” He rose from his seat, dropping his cloth napkin onto the table. “Take off your boots,” he instructed as he rounded on me.
I turned away from my plate, crossing one leg over the other. “Then thisisabout your love for feet.”
His brows furrowed. “No. I’m taking away your shoes to discourage you from attempting something foolish and impulsive, like running away.”
“Oh. Well, that’s considerably less fun,” I murmured.
He crooked a finger at me. “Hand them over.”
“I don’t want to.”
I couldn’t read his expression. It was too mixed. There was amusement in his eyes, but his jaw clenched. “Are you going to make me take them from you?”
“I’m considering it . . .” My eyes drifted toward the table knife.
“Banish the thought, hellcat,” he ground out.
“Fine.” Bending forward, I jerked at the laces, loosening my boots, then I slipped my feet out of them. The open air cooled my toes in my stockings. I held the shoes in my lap, caging them in, reluctant to release them.
“Rynn,” he said, the unspoken threat sharpening his voice.
I shoved my boots at him. “Why must you ruin everything? Just as soon as I’m starting to like you again a tiny bit, you go and make existing in your presence execrable.”
He tucked my boots under his arm. “There’s no reason why we can’t continue to enjoy our evening.”
“Yes, there is.” I pushed away from the table, stolen silver clinking against my thighs as I marched for the exit.
“Where are you going, hellcat?”
“Away from you!” I snapped, letting the doors slam behind me.
Chapter 11
Rynn Mavis
Itook a wrong turn trying to find the kitchen and got lost. Finley said I wouldn’t see any staff, but someone had to be around attending to dinner clean-up. I would need a few allies inside Nightingale House—as many as I could get—and so I set off to recruit them. Preferably, I’d find someone willing to lend me shoes when the time came for it, or they’d help smuggle me out through the gates.
I wandered into a sitting room beside an art gallery of sculptures and still-life paintings, and I borrowed a lantern from it. The halls were too dark for my liking.
I spotted a back staircase, one intended for use by staff, then I rounded the corner and entered a hall that smelled like citrus and wine. Two vibrant bouquets of crimson roses flanked a heavy door of ebonized wood. The gaslights on the bronze torchiers flickered. A cold prickle trailed down my neck, andI slowed to a standstill.
The frame of the door was covered in locks. Unlike the central room which had only one lock, this one had two heavy chains, three deadbolts, and a latch secured by a padlock that was bigger than both of my fists put together.
“What the devil is in there?” I wondered. As I padded closer, a sensation not unlike walking through cobwebs coated my skin, lifting the fine hairs on my neck and arms.
I lost track of how long I stood there staring at that locked door and its eerily beautiful flowers.
“Rynn.”
I yelped at the sound of my name. Transfixed, I hadn’t heard Finley coming down the hall. He hoisted a glowing lantern of his own. It illuminated the scarred half of his striking face.
“Did you get lost?” he asked.
“I got exactly where I wanted to be.” My toes were cold. I folded one over the other to warm them in my stockings, an instant reminder of how unhappy I was with him.